


The Higher We Go

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [27]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: The hell of it is, Michael thinks as he ducks some asshole’s wild swing, is that he shouldn’t evenbehere.





	The Higher We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for Anonymous on Tumblr who wanted FAHC Mavinwood. (Which, you know. Eventually???)

The hell of it is, Michael thinks as he ducks some asshole’s wild swing, is that he shouldn’t even _be_ here.

He should be back at the penthouse taking it easy or maybe taken Geoff’s yacht out for a little cruise. Having drinks while enjoying the hot tub and taking a load off after being loaned out to Fakehaus for the past couple of weeks. Dealing with their bullshit and wondering how the hell they ever got Elise to go along with any of it.

Instead he’s here watching Ryan get into fights in the middle of some shitty club and wondering where he went wrong because he can’t look away. Not when Ryan’s grinning like that, sharp and dangerous as he puts some little idiot and his buddies in their place.

Stupid Ryan in that jacket, and those pants that Meg must have got him because they’re doing him all kinds of favors right now. Better than those sad old dad jeans he used to wear, and goddamn Ryan and his stupid _everything_ , really because they’re here on business, and Ryan’s - 

“Watch it, fuckface!” Michael yells, when some genius thinks he can blindside him, and aims a kick at the asshole’s knee. 

There’s a satisfying little crunch he can _feel_ , the guy’s face going pale even under the club lighting as he goes down with a choked off yell.

Michael kicks his knife away into the screaming crowd around them and looks for Ryan in the shifting mass of people. Knows to focus on where the chaos is thickest and there he is, alright. 

Not quite towering over the people around him, but there’s definitely no mistaking the Vagabond when he’s working. 

Hard to miss something like that, really.

Big guy in a skull mask laughing like a psycho as he tears into idiots who should know better by now. Remember there’s a reason everyone in the damn city knows about him, why even the cops think twice when they see him coming.

Ryan’s got things well in hand over there, dropping morons right left and center and laughing it up, but they’ve got a job to do here.

Geoff wants them to meet with one of Burnie’s people, and as fun as it is fucking shit up, they can do that on their own time.

“Fucking hell,” Michael mutters, and wades through the people trying escape the chaos, make it to the front doors.

Halfway there someone bumps into him so hard he loses stride. When Michael looks to see who, gets a glimpse of green eyes and stupid hair. Sees the guy open his mouth to apologize, voice drowned out by the screams and music pumping out of the speakers.

Seeming to realize there’s no chance Michael can hear what he’s trying to say, the guy shrugs and gives Michael an apologetic smile before slipping back into the crowd. 

And that - 

It’s weird.

Goddamned bizarre, for someone in this city to have anything like manners in a situation like this, or at all, really. 

Michael snorts, turning back to look at Ryan as he clocks the last guy, music cutting out as he falls, bouncers finally starting to move in.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Michael lunges, grabs the back of Ryan’s jacket and _pulls_ because this was supposed to be an easy job, quick little retrieval and back to the penthouse. Not the clusterfuck it’s turned out to be with idiots picking fights with Ryan to see how they measure up or whatever the hell that was.

“Come on, come on,” Michael says, dragging Ryan with him as he beelines for the back exit. “Time to go, asshole.”

After a moment Ryan finally gets with the program and stops resisting. Ends up giving Michael a totally unnecessary shove because he’s not the one who was getting a goddamned kick out of pounding peoples’ faces in, but whatever it takes to get him moving.

They make their way through twisting hallways, pushing past startled employees and before they burst through a door into a dingy little alley. Sirens in the distance and a news chopper over the damn club and Geoff’s not going to be happy with them one little bit.

Ryan’s silent as they make their way their car parked a couple of blocks over on a side street. Far enough away from the club that no one they pass gives them a second glance.

“We’re fucked,” Michael says, running his hands over his face once they’re inside the car.

There are people all over the place, they didn’t find their guy, and _Ryan_ \- 

“Nah.”

Michael sighs, and drops his hands to look at the idiot.

Someone must have gotten a good hit in because the mask is a little crooked, must have had one hell of a ring because he can see a goddamned _scratch_ along one cheek.

“You okay?” he asks, because that mask, okay, that _mask_.

Not the same cheap rubber thing Ryan got from that place on Vespucci when he figured he needed to wear one, no. He’s upgraded it since then, found himself someone who was handy with shit like body armor because the stupid thing makes for a nice target. And if some asshole managed to scratch it - 

“Peachy keen,” Ryan says, bright and cheerful and all the more unsettling for it. “Never been better.”

Michael eyes him for a long, long moment and sighs, because this _idiot_.

“Great,” he says, and punches Ryan’s shoulder, _hard_ , grins at the pained grunt it pulls from Ryan because he knows better. “That means you get to explains this shit to Geoff.”

========

Ryan’s “peachy keen” is anyone else’s completely miserable, if not completely shitty.

By the time they get back to their place and the mask and face paint come off, the bruising on his face is painful to look at. Skin hot and swollen and the ice pack he’s got pressed to it doesn’t seem to be doing much.

Thankfully Geoff’s not too upset with them, only yelled for a minute, two at most before telling them Burnie’s guy was willing to arrange a second meetup in a few days. Give the cops time to calm down, stop expecting something big from the Fakes before they tried this again.

Until then - 

“You’re an idiot,” Michael says, because look, okay.

The kind of lives they lead are dangerous enough without Ryan goading some idiot into going up against him for shits and giggles. Because he’s been feeling bored with half the crew off on business elsewhere and not enough to do around the city to keep him entertained.

Ryan hums, lopsided smile on his face because he’s broken it with that stunt tonight. Messed up that pretty face of his for fun, and honestly. 

The man’s so stupid it hurts.

“No, really,” Michael says, and reaches up to brush a loose strand of Ryan’s hair out of his eyes. 

It’s getting long again, reaching past the collar of his jacket when he has it up in the ponytail he tends to favor. Roots starting to show, and if they weren’t in the middle of a job, Michael knows he’d be recruited to help him dye it again even though he’s shit at it.

“Complete moron, that’s you.”

“Well,” Ryan says. So fucking amused, like he’s got Michael’s number. “You’re not wrong.”

Michael would say it’s progress, getting Ryan to admit to that much, but - 

This is Ryan and he’s an _asshole_.

“I hate you,” Michael says, because he does. So fucking much. “So much, Ryan. So fucking much.”

And Ryan, because he’s Ryan, just nods amiably. All pleasant and shit.

“I know,” he says. Pauses, mouth curling into this annoying little smirk. “It’s mutual.”

========

“You didn’t have to come,” Ryan’s saying, awkward note to his voice. “I can handle things here on my own.”

Michael looks up from his phone, the text Jeremy sent him asking his opinion on the Rimjob he’s working on. Some shiny new toy to add to the Rimmy Armada and goddamn, Michael’s surrounded by idiots.

“What?”

Ryan shrugs, not quite fidgeting, but really damn close to it. Hands moving closer to the coaster in front of him like it’s only a matter of time.

“I know the job Fakehaus had you helping them with wasn’t easy. You deserve a break.”

It comes out halting, stilted, like Ryan’s trying to remember how to word, show human emotion and shit or whatever he’s doing right now. 

And Michael, right.

Michael knows this idiot and the ways he’s kind of a mess under everything. All shy dork who is probably the nerdiest person Michael knows, and that’s saying something. This moron who is somehow also one of the scariest people in the city, and he can’t seem to look Michael in the eye right now.

“I mean,” Michael says, making the choice to let Jeremy fuck up a perfectly fine car with its pending paint job. “This isn’t terrible.”

There are worse ways to spend his time other than sitting in a little corner booth in a bar with Ryan waiting for Burnie’s guy to show. Little bowl of nuts and drinks and not an asshole looking to prove his worth in sight.

Sure, they’d gotten curious looks when they came in, but the people here know to keep their mouths shut. 

Ryan’s eyes slide to him, some of the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Yeah?”

Michael snorts, kicking Ryan’s leg under the table because the man? Kind of an idiot.

Always seems to forget that Michael doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. Wouldn’t fucking be here if it wasn’t where he wanted to be. (Not to mention that Michael knows all too well how quickly shit goes wrong in this shithole of a city. Especially with Ryan involved.)

“Yeah.”

Ryan opens his mouth to say something – probably stupid – when someone clears their throat.

Not Ryan, and sure as fuck not Michael, so - 

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Michael looks over to see a guy standing beside the booth. 

He has these obnoxiously gaudy sunglasses on. Gold frames and mirrored lenses so Michael can’t see the color of his eyes, but that hair?

Stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

“I remember you,” Michael says, because apparently Ryan’s going to leave the talking to him, here, let the Vagabond’s reputation speak for him. “You’re the asshole who ran into me at the club.”

The guy makes a face, hands fluttering by his side before he seems to decide crossing his arms is a good way to keep them still.

“It was chaotic, and I tried to apologize,” he says, this note to it like he cant believe that's what’s Michael’s choosing to focus on here.

And Michael, okay.

Michael’s very, very aware of Ryan next to him, the way he’s just _watching_ this guy. 

“You look familiar,” Ryan says suddenly, leaning forward, eyes raking over the guy who goes so, so still.

Licks his lips as he takes this half step back before he catches himself, realizes the mistake he’s made.

Sure, it's possible Ryan caught a glimpse of the guy the other day too, but there’s something in the way the guy looks almost worried before he flashes them a grin. Going for cocky and this nice little touch of carefree arrogance.

He almost pulls it off, but then Ryan’s on his feet. Hand fisted in the front of the guy’s shirt as he pulls him close and plucks the sunglasses off his face almost too fast to see.

The guy squeaks in surprise, eyes wide (definitely green), as he plants a hand on Ryan’s chest trying to push him off.

And then Ryan smirks.

“Knew it,” he says, so fucking satisfied 

The guy looks like he’s thinking of trying something, eyes flitting to Michael for a calculating moment before he looks back at Ryan.

Fucking _sighs_ , like Ryan’s being difficult.

“Hi, Ryan,” he says, and smiles.

It’s different than the ones he’s tossed their way so far. Small and hesitant and oddly awkward. Like oh, what an uncomfortable little social situation they find themselves in, the Vagabond and Mogar and this little shit.

And Ryan, okay. 

He loses that tension that’s been sitting heavy on him since the fight at the club, since Geoff handed them (well, Ryan, Michael’s just along for the ride) this job. 

Bring in one of Burnie’s people who’s managed to get themselves in trouble. Lend him a hand in exchange for the promise of future favors from the Roosters like their crews were intrinsically linked and they would have done it anyway if Burnie asked.

“Hi, Gavin,” Ryan says, hand loosening in Gavin’s shirt but not letting him go just yet, like he’s worried he might run on them.

The hand on Ryan’s chest goes from trying to push him off to resting there lightly, thumb brushing his collar bone under his shirt before he drops it by his side. Shoots Michael another look.

Michael’s eyebrows go up at that little gesture, but Ryan doesn’t so much as twitch and Michael - 

Look.

He knows some things about Ryan, right. The stuff Ryan trusts him with, knows Michael won’t use against him.

Knows Ryan’s a bleeding heart under it all, the mask and the face paint that that looming specter of the Vagabond’s reputation that eclipses the man at the heart of it all. 

Knows there was a job, way back when. The days before he joined the crew, used to pick up jobs here and there that caught his interest, gave him a challenge. 

He’s talked about a few of them, the idiots who thought they could pull a fast one on him and the ones who gave him his due respect. The ones where he met people that stuck in his head for one reason or another, above average skills or someone bound to get themselves killed with their own stupidity. (Might take others with them in the process.)

Some of them have ended up in the crew when Geoff’s looking to expand, some are people to be watched because they don’t play by the same rules the Fakes do. (Might be a problem they have to deal with one day.)

There was a guy a few years ago. 

Voice on the other end of the comms on a job and too many damn questions. Used to pester Ryan with all kinds of hypothetical while he guided him through facilities and worked his magic to get Ryan past otherwise impenetrable security measures. 

Saw his face once or twice in passing, and they’d worked well together until things went wrong, and this little regret in the back of Ryan’s head all this time because he’d liked the guy.

Maybe a little too much, given the way he’s looking at Gavin. (Maybe it’s mutual, given the way Gavin’s looking at _him_.)

Michael clears his throat and has to bite back a smile at the way Ryan and Gavin look to him, like they’d forgotten he was there.

It should sting more than it does, but Michael _knows_ Ryan. Whole lot of trust and shared secrets between them and that little bit more that settles whatever misgivings he has watching them.

“Look, as nice as this little reunion is,” Michael says, waving a hand at the two of them, “you want to tell us what’s going on?”

Call it a hunch, but he’s positive Gavin is the guy they were sent to collect. Keep an eye on until they got him back to the penthouse, to Geoff and Jack and the rest of the crew to let Burnie know he was in good hands.

Gavin looks at Ryan, eyebrow raised, and after a moment Ryan sighs as he lets him go. Sits back down next to Michael. 

And Gavin.

He smooths out his shirt and takes a seat across from them, glances at Michael again before he clears his throat and starts talking.

Michael keeps half an eye on Ryan, sees the set of his shoulders, the tension seeping back in because Gavin’s a fucking idiot. 

Got himself into serious trouble and called Burnie for help because they go way back, and Burnie had called them in turn when he found out Gavin had run to Los Santos.

Bunch of idiots in a dive bar and all this drama between Ryan and Gavin and fuck Michael’s life because he volunteered for this shit, didn't he. Gave up his chance to take a little time off because he was worried Ryan would get into trouble without someone to look out for him, and look where it got him.

Ryan’s getting that look to him Michael knows too damn well. The times he gets a taste of his own medicine, gets to experience what it feels like to see someone he cares about puling stupid shit that’s liable to get them skilled

Looks like he wants to tear into Gavin, but -

“You really fucked up, huh,” Michael says, amused in spite of himself because Gavin just seems so annoyed about it all. 

People after his head and it’s this _inconvenience_ he’d rather do without while Burnie and his Roosters sort things out while he hides out with the Fakes.

Gavin looks at him, this tired little slump to his shoulders. 

He looks exhausted, like he’s been looking over his shoulder for too damn long. Fading bruises and what look to be bandages under his clothes, the way his clothes hang off his lanky frame as though he’s lost weight too.

Kind of pathetic, really, and it’s not tugging at Michael’s black little heart, no, just. 

Something.

“You could say that,” Gavin says, and that’s tired too. 

“Michael - “

And there’s Ryan, worried and fretting and hiding it so damn well because the Vagabond doesn’t do things like that. Doesn’t let on that he’s human because the moment he does, that reputation of his isn’t worth a damn. 

Michael sighs – feels like he’s been doing that a lot recently – and _looks_ at Ryan.

For all that the Fakes are supposed to be these ruthless bastards, they’re really just a bunch of idiots that somehow managed to find each other for better or worse.

Bleeding hearts and soft touches, and if they were anyone else Los Santos would have eaten them alive years ago.

And if Gavin’s important enough to Burnie that he’s willing to let Geoff lord things over him for it - 

“Fucking hell," Michael mutters. "At least this won't be boring."

Understatement, maybe, but it’s not like any of them have ever done things the easy way, now have they?


End file.
